“Go ahead, first mate,” said the commander without ceremony.
The first mate lifted up the logbook to see his inscriptions. “Course due south-west,” he said. “Wind south-east fifteen to twenty knots. Average speed five to six knots.”
“It’s too slow,” said Van Rijkhoff.
They were going to get slowed down even more, although he did not know it at that point. It was going to be marked by disaster but not by any fatalities - yet.
“It’s the Schotse Lorrendraaier,” said the commander. “She’s old, the wrong design and does not carry the same press of sail as the rest. She is sailing as fast as she can but she still keeps us back. I do not understand how the Lords of Seventeen could have included her in this fleet.”
“On the other hand, think of all that cargo that would have stayed behind,” said the second mate cheekily. Everybody ignored him. Especially Van Rijkhoff, since it was his decision to include her. He had pressed the shipbuilders at the massive shipyards on Onrust Island, not far from Batavia, for another ship and they did the best they could with what they had.
“It is a pity,” continued commander Schouten. “We have to take full advantage of this favourable wind.”
“Does it mean we will fall behind schedule?” asked Van Rijkhoff. “Once again I remind you that there will be a bonus for every officer if we make patria within two hundred days. Having left only on the first of January, we have no time to lose.”
“If the wind stays in our favour, there is a good chance that we will be able to make the Cape within the sixty day target,” reassured the commander. “Then we will see how it goes from there.”
At sunset Van Rijkhoff and Tap took another stroll on deck amidships. He met de Marre, the surgeon.
“Finished your rounds, doctor? How are we keeping up?”
“So far not many problems,” said de Marre. “As you know, we’ve had a few deaths from the fevers that people have contracted on Batavia but no scurvy yet.”
“That is still to come?”
“I reckon we still have another two weeks before we will see the first cases.”
Van Rijkhoff was actually on his way to a dinner invitation. Mrs Vis, the wife of a high-ranking colleague who died a few weeks before departure, had prepared something special. She was fully aware that Van Rijkhoff had a wife who was half her age, but on the other hand everyone was living dangerously. Less than half the people who had left patria came back alive. Who knows whether the young Mrs van Rijkhoff had survived the rigours of the journey one year ago? You had to make your bets and keep them covered.
It was a multi-course meal, served in the lady’s compartment by her slave, whom she dressed in yellow and green silk. Van Rijkhoff enjoyed it tremendously.
“It reminds me of the best of Asia,” he said and meant it.
It was on his way back that he noticed a commotion amongst the ship’s company. The weather had taken a sudden turn for the worse and the activity was to be expected. He quickened his steps to get out of the rain that appeared from nowhere.
“Ah, Commodore,” said commander Schouten when he saw him. “We’ve been looking for you. We just had an accident.”
“What happened?”
“We were befallen by a sudden squall of extreme ferocity. On our ship the main topsail split, which is not what I wanted to tell you. It is easy enough to fix. There was, however, more damage elsewhere. The Zoetigheid was caught completely off guard. She tried to wear, was taken aback and bore down on the Standvastigheid. She ripped off the bowsprit of the Standvastigheid and snapped the forestay, which brought down the fore topmast, main topmast and main yard.”
Van Rijkhoff looked out in the darkness and wondered how his captain was able to see all that. A light was blinking in the darkness.
“Is that her? What is the Standvastigheid signalling now?” he asked.
“Unable to proceed but they are not taking water. There were some injuries. No deaths.”
“Can we take her in tow while they do repairs?” asked van Rijkhoff.
“This is more than just a squall,” said commander Schouten. “We have ourselves a cyclone. I suggest you give orders for the fleet to stand to and to prepare the drogues. First mate, give instructions to all passengers and soldiers to stay confined to their quarters. I want to see experienced seamen only. In a very short while we will have waves washing over the deck.”
Reluctantly, the commodore ordered the signal sent to heave to. Ships dispersed from the tight formation and prepared for the gale. For four days Van Rijkhoff stayed in his cabin, while torrential rain lashed the decks and gusts howled like banshees through the rigging. His belongings were forever moving about in the cabin but Samson was on hand to keep order. From the time the topsail split to the time that the fleet got under sail again, seven days elapsed. Van Rijkhoff was not impressed. As the feet continued on its way he became a rather grumpy presence at the daily meetings. He was not the only one. There were some caustic opinions aired as the entire fleet crawled along at four knots, keeping pace with the jury-rigged Standvastigheid.
“Can’t we leave her to proceed at her own speed?” suggested the commander. “We are more than halfway to the Cape. Nothing much can happen to her.”
“We will stay in formation as prescribed,” said commodore van Rijkhoff. “I will not lose any ships. Not even one.”
***
A cheer went up when a lookout on a masthead shouted that he saw Table Mountain. They had to endure two more nights before the ships dropped anchor in the bay, beating against a strong South-Easter that fell over the impressive grey rock in a white cloud. They fought the wind for an afternoon and most of the night and only managed to reach their spots in the roads after the sun had risen again.
There were five other ships in the bay. Van Rijkhoff scrutinised them eagerly through a spyglass and confirmed that they were ships from Galle, Ceylon that were joining his fleet. They were now fifteen altogether, all under his command.
The forecastle crew barely had time to get the anchor down to the sandy bottom of Table Bay before a boat came alongside. It contained the aide-de-camp of the castle. The company official had letters. Van Rijkhoff excused himself and opened his post. Apart from a letter from the governor, detailing his accommodation arrangements, there were two letters from the company. Lastly, there were letters from his wife, one addressed from Cape Town and one from Amsterdam. In the Amsterdam letter she said that she, the two children and even the two slaves had made it safely to port. For a moment the family man in him came alive.
There were expectant glances when he returned to the poop deck after locking all the correspondence in his desk.
“We will sail as soon as the Batavia portion of the fleet is in a position to do so. Repairs must start without delay, which means today.”
Within hours the bay became a very busy place as longboats plied their trade. First, the sick were transported, headed for the roomy hospital in the gardens. There were many. Some ships had less than half their company left. Most had died from scurvy during the last phase of the journey.
Van Rijkhoff watched from his usual spot on the poop deck. He sneezed and his ears hurt. Gun smoke was drifting across the bay from the frequent cannonades. First, a cannon high up on the slopes of the mountain announced them while they were still too far off to see the town. As they closed in on the settlement, a greeting from cannons on the castle boomed over the waves, which the flagship answered with its own guns. Since then, the guns on the castle walls belched fire and smoke at irregular intervals, sending code that was not meant for them.
At the appointed time commodore Van Rijkhoff stepped into the pinnace of the ship and set out for the shore. He looked behind to see his broad pennant being lowered.
Commanders from all ships followed suit, having looked out for his signal for some hours now. They converged on the jetty, where a mass of people were waiting. It appeared as if all of Cape Town was assembled, each in his best suit or dre
ss. The moment Van Rijkhoff’s feet touched down on the steps of the jetty, the guns on the castle opened up with yet another cannonade, a twenty one shot salute. The visitors formed up, commodore, commanders, their senior officers and high ranking passengers, to be gawked at by a solid phalanx of locals, all looking for a sign of the exotic, since they were from colourful Batavia. They picked up on Van Rijkhoff’s sallow colour, correctly surmising its cause and giggled at the stumbling feet of officers and passengers, unused to solid land. For a moment the city forgot that it was in the grip of the biggest epidemic of its history as it celebrated one of the highlights of the year – the arrival of the return fleet.
The only sour note was the pox. Despite the joy of making land, the next few weeks became for Van Rijkhoff Batavia all over. The mourning was everywhere and it spoiled an otherwise pleasant sojourn. To escape the misery he made a trip into the countryside and visited hamlets and farms all the way to Stellenbosch and then even deeper into the hinterland where he visited a region called Vergelegen, which was established by governor Van der Schoon, now succeeded by the present incumbent. He was somewhat awed by the impenetrable appearance of the Great Mountains and saw the road to Eland’s Pass. They told him it led to the land of the Hottentotten.
There were a few events organised by the governor that he had to attend, including another grand parade, for which all the dignitaries travelling with the fleet dressed up in their finest once more. Mrs Vis greeted him very formally this time. She had heard that his family was alive. Otherwise he kept himself confined to his quarters. There he went through the Books of Consumption of every ship in detail, including the Galle contingent. Nobody was going to eat the company into a loss under his watch.
Then the weather changed. It was nothing special in a place where you often experienced all four seasons in one day. What caught the attention of one of the commanders was that the watchers of the castle started putting sandbags on the seaward wall. He climbed up to enquire.
“What is this about?” he asked. Do we expect attack?”
“No sire. This is just experience. We expect a storm. The old-timers amongst us can feel the violence on the wind.” He put up a finger to test the northwester that had sprung up only that afternoon. “It will hit us with its full force tonight. Then the water will be right up to here.” They pointed at the broad expanse of Strand Street, which separated the castle from the beach.
“My good man, but this is impossible. We are a hundred feet above the sea.”
“Not if the storm is very strong and not if it coincides with the high tide. Have you noticed that there is a gate on this side of the castle which is permanently closed up? This was once the main gate but then we had some big storms here before, when the water washed right into the castle. We know this sea. We look at it every day.”
“What about the ships?”
“Sire, these ships are in danger. We recommend you get them to the lee of Robben Island. Even so, you have to get the advice of the local pilots. The currents inside the Bay work in a strange way when there is a violent storm.”
The commander looked at the placid sea, lapping at the bottom of a steep but wide beach, felt the gentle breeze on his face and said to himself that the people at the Cape are known story tellers. He did not know that a mere fifty kilometres away, far above the sheltered Bay, a full-strength north-westerly gale was already blasting a mountain they called the Kamberg. It howled like ten thousand banshees through its scraggy peaks that took up all that energy and vibrated deep into their basalt core like the prongs on a giant pitchfork.
Only later did the commander repeat the story to his colleagues. By then the wind had changed character. It was suddenly blowing at least half a gale and the sea had changed too, from a pleasant blue-green into the colour of slate, with a rising chop. Commanders despatched officers with instructions as to where to anchor. They all came back, reporting that all of a sudden the sea was so rough that it would be suicide to attempt to reach the ships. The officers and crews on board had to fend for themselves. In the ship’s box in his cabin each commander had detailed sailing instructions, which also explained exactly where to anchor in Table Bay in case of a north-westerly gale. The instructions used Robben Island as the point of reference. Were the officers on board able to read the signs of the weather and were they reading the sailing instructions?
Commanders who had envisaged spending the evening in a pleasant pub with rum and schnapps suddenly found themselves pacing the seaward wall of the castle where borrowed spy glasses went from hand to hand.
“Ah, they are putting on some sail and lifting anchor. Now just get in the right position!” instructed a relieved commander.
“Wake up men, please!” entreated another, where the masts were still bare. “Soon it will be too late to move.”
He was right. The wind was getting stronger. A commander lost his wig, his thin hair streaming behind him after it. A soldier in the courtyard picked it up, identified the wigless but ostentatiously dressed gentleman on the wall and brought it up. On some of the ships the decision to move or stay where they were was not an easy one, once they sensed the uptick in the wind velocity. Was it not better to hold on to what you had? Here and there sails were rolled up again. A few of the ships that were moving toward a better spot gave up the battle, hove to and put down anchors once more. A small handful were in a better position to start off with and with the wind abeam and waves splashing white on deck sailed where their masters on the walls willed them to go.
Only at this time did commander Schouten ask where the commodore was. It seemed that he might not have been notified, or was he out of town? He got down to the courtyard and enquired of the lackey at the door of the apartment where the governor kept his high-ranking visitors – right where he could monitor every move they made. The commodore was in.
“I did not notice the change in the weather,” he said. “These walls are so thick that you don’t know what is happening on the outside, although now that you mention it, it has become dark quite early. I will be there at once.”
“Better put on your seaman’s coat, commodore” said the commander. “It will be very wet soon.”
“Well, hopefully it won’t get worse,” he said when he joined the commander of his flagship on the wall ten minutes later.
“You might be right,” said Schouten, “but the watchers are convinced that we are going to see a big one.”
Commodore van Rijkhoff noticed that the space on the wall was already thick with people. He counted twelve commanders. Three, he knew, were in hospital. That meant that no commander was on his ship. If the crisis was as grave as he was led to believe, then all of them were caught unawares.
“I see the Engelenburg is still here, right in front.”
“She is. There are better places to anchor. I’ve briefed my officers on it. The problem is that the seas have risen so high that it might be foolhardy to lift anchor, lest the ship gets swept away by the current and ends up on a beach.”
“Who is in charge?”
“It should be the second mate but I’m not sure. Watches are organised by the first mate. Ah, here he is.”
“How now, first mate? Why is our ship not moving?”
“There were too few hands on board for a quick start and now the gusts are simply too strong. She might broach to in the waves and ship water.”
“Are the anchors well set?”
“I believe they are. There is good sand where she is but who knows what will happen if conditions get more foul,” said the first mate.
“As I just said to the commodore, the locals predict it will.”
“Is that why they put sandbags on the ramparts?”
“Unbelievable, isn’t it, but yes, that is why. It’s for the spray, they say, because everybody inside gets wet otherwise.”
“What is the point in that? It rains anyway.”
“The spray flies horizontally,” said the captain of the watch, who joined them. “It mes
ses up windows and gets onto doors. Commodore, sir, we expect the rain to come down any minute now. When that happens, together with the spray, it will get very wet and slippery up here and so do the steps. I recommend you wait out the storm below.”
“Thank you for the warning, captain, but I will stay here a while longer with my officers.”
“We’ve had cases where the wind blew people off the wall,” said the captain. “With all respect, it’s not safe up here.”
“We will keep a hold on the commodore, captain,” said the commander. “But he has a point,” he continued, as the captain of the watch moved away. “For us sea dogs, this is nothing. It’s like standing on the quarter deck of a ship, but you are not a sailor. Perhaps you should go down now, sir.”
“I will stay,” said Van Rijkhoff. Since the captain of the watch spoke, he began to appreciate the gravity of the situation even more. The watchers honestly believed that something horrible was coming.
“What if the conditions deteriorate and the anchors of these ships start to slip?” he asked.
“Then some ships might be lost, sir,” said the first mate. “If only my men and I could get to the ship in time!”
“What can be done?”
“The man in charge of the ship must make his own decisions,” said the commander bitterly. “We cannot make them for him, but I would have taken the chance to get out of there. If I could just get into the mind of my second mate!”
“What if he takes the chance and the ship founders? It will be end of him,” said the commodore.
“Many of the junior officers on these ships are right now faced with the same dilemma. You might be damned if you do but damned if you don’t as well. I’m afraid I see a disaster coming.”
“All that is left is to hope that the watchers have got it wrong,” said Van Rijkhoff.
“You are not a sea dog, commodore. I am. I know they are not wrong. I sense trouble coming. Just look at these waves. The highest ones are already rolling up to the top of the beach.”
“And this is not a small beach either,” said the first mate. “It’s pretty steep. What we are looking at is a twelve foot difference. When I left the jetty just now, it was smashing against the top planks. If the seas rise any further the jetty will be gone tomorrow.”
The Triangle and The Mountain: A Bermuda Triangle Adventure Page 16